Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter to Kim Kardashian
Dear Kim,
Heeeeeeeeyyyyyyy, girl! You look greeeat- the cutouts on that dress are… something! Yes, hi Kris, you look fine too whatever. Let’s focus on Kim here for a second?
Kimmy it is IMPOSSIBLE to get a hold of you! You’re so busy globetrotting with Kanye, going to the Met Costu… oh, you weren’t invited? Er, stopping by crazy parties with Beyon… oh, she didn’t… she didn’t want you there? Well, you rocked that Quick Trim launch, K-Squared. It was like a really glam, British… infomercial, but LIVE!
Yeah, Kris, you were there too, that’s super, but again, this letter is addressed to Kim, right? Thanks… anyway, KK, I wanted to talk to you about the Big Bad Ms. B. I know you thought hopping on the Ye Train was gonna be your ticket into the Illuminati Inner Circle, but I feel like it’s my place (shut up, all of you) to tell you it just… isn’t going to happen.
Nooo, no, don’t cry! God, please, seriously, you’re gonna pull a Botox’d-out muscle, jeez. It’s not you, K, obviously. I mean, you’re a successful entrepreneur (hey, you’ve been sued so you KNOW it’s real,) you’ve got Paris Hilton on speed dial (hello, yes, this is 2004? Amiright Khloe? UP TOP.) No, no, sorry, we’re just kidding, Kim!
But really, this fascination with the Queen has to stop. I don’t wanna see you get hurt trying to scooch that infamous backside of yours in where it won’t be appreciated, Kim. You don’t wanna hang out where you’re not wanted, even if that means having to get Cosmos with Seacrest while your boo is sashaying down red carpets with models around every corner, or playing Connect Four with Blue Ivy. (Please, you know that infant can already speak 3 languages and has a wardrobe worth more than the car I had to sell to help pay for my move to New York.)
So no more trying to play on the level of a woman whose waste sparkles and smells like fresh lilac (I mean, if I had to guess…). Wipe away those tears, hike up those breasts and let Mama Kris give you an extra coat of bronzer and a shot of collagen to those lips.
You’re Kim Kardashian, dammit - and if Beyonce doesn’t wanna hang out with you, you’ll find someone who will. I hear Amber Rose makes a fine companion.
Sincerely, Yours Truly
A Woman Who Will Also Never Get to Be Around Bey
PS. Tell your mother to stop calling me.
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter to The President of the United States, Barack Obama
Ed. Note: President Obama keeps doing pretty awesome things that you don’t normally see, so Katie Young thought she’d address it now while the Secret Service is… um… “indisposed.” See more columns here.
Dear Mr. President,
I would like to take this opportunity to personally thank you for all of the hard work you’ve put into improving our country throughout the pa- ugh. I’m sorry, Mr. Obama, but this just feels wrong. You want me to be honest with you, right? (I’ll go ahead and assume that’s a yes and also that I may now call you a variety of nicknames…)
The real reason I’m writing to you is because your appearance on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon on Tuesday evening… changed me. Sure, sure, what you were saying about college debt and higher education was very important but Barry, B-Boy… you slow-jammed the news, but in the process you also seduced me.
I saw that twinkle in your eye, that seriously sexually appealing authoritarian nod - and that LIP BITE. Obombs AWAY! I know I speak for myself and at least three other middle class white women in their 20s who were on Gchat today when I say “YES YOU CAN (GET IT).”
Some may be criticizing you for taking your message to the youth via a former SNL cast member who ruined COUNTLESS skits with his infernal laughter, (Jimmy you are a demon) but I say there’s not enough politics after dark. This is your time to sex up the entire administration, Bam Bam!
Bring them all on, I say! Have Hil-C read a bit of mild erotica, why don’t ya! I bet Joe “Mr. Suave” Biden could do a mean YouTube cover of D’Angelo’s “How Does It Feel” - old white dude abs and all. Hell, you could even bring the one and only Rahm Emanuel back to… do… other stuff that I can’t legally suggest here because of pending court cases regarding what I define as a string of fortuitous coincidences but the state of Illinois feels may be “harassment…”
Anyway, I know you’re busy, and I want to be sure I end this before I say anything that would cause your terrifyingly beautiful, intelligent and bicep-y First Lady to rip me apart and use my rib cage as a purse, so - this is the one thing you have that the GOP won’t ever use: sex.
So keep cracking wise and making disturbingly deep eye contact with the camera while delivering key messages over smooth R&B songs. Keep going on talk shows and showing off your dance moves and impeccably tailored suits. Do all of this not so I can creepily stare at .GIFs of these things on loop at work, but so you can continue to pull this country of ours together. Like Kim and Kanye.
Yes that’s it… for our country, Mr. President. Now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of watching something… again.
Sincerely, Yours Truly,
A lifelong Democrat and also a big fan of your beautiful, beautiful face
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter to Lena Dunham and Hologram Tupac
Ed. Note: Listen guys, Katie Young tries. She tries real hard. But sometimes, the people in the world get a little too ridiculous and she just… loses it. It’s not her fault, really. But check out the rest of her columns here, anyway.
Dear Hologram Tupac and Ms. Lena Dunham,
Pssst. Hey. Hey, c’mere. It’s ok, I won’t yell at you! What? No, I’m not a staff writer for Gawker, just list- Pac, I can see you - you’re a hologram thing - you can’t hide behind stuff.
Look, I know the whole Internet has been up your butts for the past few days but trust me… I just want to chat… see, I even have cupcakes, here, in this bathtub, Lena. (Sorry, Tupes, but I can barely bake real people food, let alone whatever dust-flecked, marijuana smoke-y concoctions sustain you.)
I just want to talk, I promise. I know you guys have been really busy - Dun Dawg, you, with your interviews and whimsical photo shoots, and 2sie, you… um… flickering around while Dr. Dre plans your stadium tour.
I’m worried about you guys, ok? Do you know what happens when you reach this level of saturation online? A few things - first, my parents start asking me about you (Though, to be fair, for a 50-something white male from the Midwest, my father’s rap knowledge is impressive - NATCH).
Second, people start to hate you. Really, really hate you. They accuse you of reinforcing the idea of white privilege, and yell at you for going to Oberlin, or for not even ACTUALLY being a hologram but a Victorian parlor trick. (Of course unless you’re Ryan Gosling, in which case, COME BACK WE NEED MORE YOU CAN BE ANYTHING.)
And then… and then it gets bad. They forget about you. Yep, they move on, because Justin Beiber maybe knocked someone up again, or Brad Pitt gives Angelina Jolie the ugliest effing ring on the planet (seriously, you clearly didn’t go to Jared’s, Brad.)
After that, all that’s left is to chop off all your hair or light yourself on fire or start being seen around town with Marilyn Manson (You’re only 1 for 3, Lana Del Ray - shit or get off the pot, girl).
I guess what I’m trying to say is… enjoy it. I hope you do end up becoming an accomplished and celebrated writer/director, LD, if not for you, but for womankind. And you, Tupac Amaru Shakur, my beautiful, ephemeral illusion. I can only hope Snoop and Dre parade you around to as many giant stadiums filled with an awkward mix of aging urbanites and pimply teens who know you only as “the guy on shirts in Hot Topic.”
Please, take this ridiculous photoshopped image as a token of my appreciation for assaulting my eyeballs with news of your wonderful selves on every GODFORSAKEN NEWS OUTLET AND SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM FOR THE PAST 72 HOURS.
I’m sorry… I thought I could make it through without yelling. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think Lindsay Lohan was just arrested again.
Sincerely, Yours Truly,
A Woman Who Is Blaming A Stranger and An Optical Illusion For Her Internet Addiction
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter to Ryan Gosling
Ed. Note: Katie Young has a tendency to have unnaturally strong opinions on celebrities and enjoys writing about them in a semi-sane manner. Check out previous letters here.
Hello… Ryan,
Or should I say Prince Charming? Superman? His Royal Highness of Glorious Abdomens and Twee Hat Choices?
Wow, I didn’t mean to get so sarcastic so quickly. You don’t deserve that, Gos. You really and truly don’t. Why, I just heard recently that you saved a stranger from being hit by a car, right here in New York City!
I can only imagine (and believe me I might’ve imagined some stuff) what that would be like: You’re skipping along, humming some Trick Daddy tune (probably “Take It To Da House” but we can negotiate later) when all of a sudden your seasonably inappropriate sandal gets caught in a subway grate and you WOULD fly into the street but Mr. Holy-Jesus-Look-At-Those-Biceps himself pulls you to safety!
Really…you’re…you’re really just a stand-up gentleman, now aren’t you, RyGuy? You break up fights, you’re a feminist icon, you really, really love your dog (who is like, you but in dog form- I swear I’ve never seen such a beautiful and loveable creature!)
Um…sorry, was that weird? It’s just…I mean…are you TRYING TO KILL ME, RYAN GOSLING? BECAUSE I THINK THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE DOING. YOU RUN AROUND ALL CANADIAN AND CHARMING, THINKING YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH ALL OF THESE GOOD DEEDS, WEARING TANK TOPS SO RECKLESSLY AND BEING ALL PRO-ACCURATE DEPICTIONS OF SEX IN MOVIES?
I… I can’t let that happen, I really cant. And do you know WHY? Because you’re keeping all of us (and I really mean ALL of us- women, gay men, straight men, goldfish, extraterrestrials…) from finding any sort of real and true happiness in a romantic relationship. You, YOU, the next George Clooney, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man of Forever We Swear to God, you’re “It.” Everything, everyone else is only a tiny portion of the indescribable happiness and light that you embody.
And if I’m being honest here (please, stop laughing) can I just say I wish you had let that woman get hit by a car? YES. I said it! And before you get all “hey girl” and puppy dog-eyed RG, let me just say that (hopefully?) everyone else was THINKING IT TOO.
We need a reason to hate you is all! Just one, tiny, harmless reason, so that we may finally go about our business knowing that you’re maybe a tiny bit flawed and we don’t need you anyway, my own boyfriend can probably fix my bathroom sink while also playing the ukelele and telling me super endearing stories about his time in the Mickey Mouse Club?
I guess I just want you to be a little less selfish next time you do something decent and kind, Mr. Perfect. We’re all trying to get shit done over here, ok?
Sincerely, Yours Truly,
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter to Alicia Silverstone
Ed. Note: Katie Young is a child of the nineties, and therefore has some deep-seated problems with the celebrities of her youth (we can’t all have grown up on Zeppelin, DAD). Check out her column here.
Dear Former Teen Queen of Everything Beautiful In 1990s Culture,
Oh my God, HI. I apologize in advance and I am going to try and be as in control of my emotions here as possible, but girl…you’re THE Cher Horowitz. (I mean true, there was that other chick who played her on the TV show, but like, that really really doesn’t count even though I loved it and Wallace Shaun was still there, turtleneckin’ it up so…)
Jeez, I’m already talking too much (Wallace Shaun does it for me, ya know?) but ugh, Silvz. You really look fantastic. I bet you could still rock the same teeny cut-offs and flannel from that Aerosmith video. You still have them, right? Just asking for a friend, whatever.
And anyyyway, you’ve had a BABY too! Which, um, I guess is what I wanted to bring up, Leesh. I like to think of us pretty close friends (donotarguewithmeplease) which is why I feel comfortable asking you… why… are you… feeding your child like a bird?
Yes, yes, we all saw the video, A-Town. You were the one who uploaded it! Honestly, did you not expect the entire crew of Access Hollywood to seize up with a creepy mixture of joy, confusion and sexual arousal when they realized what they had found? (Seriously though, Billy Bush - cool it.)
Just wait, wait before you start - I “get it.” You want your baby to be healthy and safe! I guess I just thought that meant you’d… like, cut up his hot dogs into tiny pieces, or at least help foster some deep-seated fear of germs like a normalparent.
Now how is he going to learn to chew? You’ve doomed this child to a lifetime of pre-mashed up food, which is only cool if you get him his own tiny baby blender. (And yes infants and rotating blades are a FINE idea - I’m the parenting expert here.)
But I guess you’re not alone in this weird baby stuff, Stoney. Not that you should be taking parenting advice from an ice queen cyborg who can’t act her way out of a paper bag (though could play a paper bag), but I guess January Jones ate her baby’s placenta so…
Good on ya! You can keep up this whole Mama Bird charade, so long as you don’t double up on the weird and come out as some sort of crazy vegan activist… er… ugh. Fine. Just no Scientology, ok?
Sincerely, Yours Truly
A lady who just hasn’t forgiven you for whatever the hell you did to Batgirl
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter To R. Kelly
Ed. Note: Listen, we really loved the Space Jam soundtrack, too. But you lost us somewhere along the line, R. Kelly - we’re not gonna say exactly where, but it was probably around the whole urination-on-a-minor thing - but luckily Katie Young is here to set us right. Read more of her wonderful ideas here.
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter to R. Kelly
Dear His Highness of Modern Hip-Hop and R&B,
Let me (OH GOD PLEASE) be the first white, ginger-tinted honorary hoodrat to congratulate you on IFC picking up the mind-boggling 32 new parts of your “Trapped in the Closet” series. And may I say, it’s about time that your insane ranting and ravings received the critical acclaim they truly deserve. (Though really, we’re gonna have to start petitioning for a Rap Mini-Series category at the Globes…)
Anyway, what a big deal, Kellz! IFC- do you know what that means? You’re on a network with Portlandia, one of the biggest shows on television right now. I can imagine you’re a huge Sleater-Kinney fan, obviously, so I don’t have to tell you about the thrill you must be feeling regarding sharing potential airtime with Carrie f-ing Brownstein, right?
(Author’s note: This is where I like to imagine R. Kelly breaking into his “Bump-n-Grind” dance in excitement)
I don’t want us to get too ahead of ourselves here, RK, but this…this could be even bigger for us. I can keep saying us, right? GREAT. But really, think about it- this could be the ticket to things like the Today Show or, or…Inside the Actor’s Studio! Don’t lie to me, Mr. Kelly. I know you’re dying to tell James Lipton that your favorite phrase in the English language is “Thoia Thoing.”
Look, my hip-hop colleagues and I (me, the Internet, and all my drunk male friends in college) are well aware of your acting chops. I mean, in the opening for your video “Feelin’ on Yo Booty” I was almost brought to tears. You were so upset about being late to that club. And in “I’m a Flirt”? Goddamn right you are, Robert Sylvester- I felt it even through my 480p Youtube player.
I guess what I am ultimately trying to say is pace yourself, Kel Bel. We (SHUT UP YES WE, OK?) have a lot riding on this. IFC is big, but it’s only up from here.
Sincerely, Yours Truly
A 20-something Woman Who Really Just Hopes This Means IFC Will Air “Carmen: A Hip-Hopera”
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter To Brian “Baby/Birdman” Williams
Ed. Note: Sometimes, Katie Young just wants to know, WHY?! Why are you so insane, world? Why do you do such illogical things, celebrities? Why? WHYY?!?!
Brrr Brrrr-brr BRRRRbrrBRR (Roughly translated from Birdcallin’, it reads: Dear BW),
Well, if it isn’t the godfather of YMCMB, as I (barely) live and breathe. I don’t want to start out on the wrong foot with you here, Mr. Baby, but I dare say you threw me into a TAILSPIN last week when I found out my dear friend F-Dursty of Limp Bizkit is being signed to the record label you run along with your MiniMe, Lil’ Wayne.
Upon hearing this ridiculous news, I was rendered speechless. (For once, amiriiiight family/friends/boyfriend/everyone within a 15 foot radius of me ever?). Look, I love the three of you (well, 7 of you, if we include whatever godforsaken voices occupy Wayne’s brainspace and tell him it’s OK to pretend he’s in a Blink-182 video) but this is one mash-up that I fear will not do.
I’d venture to say that the unholy pairing of the 2000’s best nu-metal band and my favorite Bad News Bears-esque rap collaborative is actually like mixing oil and…well, hot dog flavored water (Shut up yeah I went there.).
For example, are we as a nation prepared for the inevitable celebrity couple of Wes Boreland and Nicki Minaj (Actually, this is something that has to happen- THINK OF THE COSTUMES!)? And we’re all just a bunch of fools if we think a joint tour won’t turn out like some sort of cross between Summer Jam and the Gathering of the Juggalos.
Actually, Bee Dubz, you…you might be on to something here. Maybe…just maybe this is some sort of crazy plan to destroy music so that we may build it up once again? Ya know, kinda like…if you have nothing left to burn, set yourself on fire kinda stuff, right?
Yes, yes…I see what you’re sayi—wait. You mean Freddie D. just asked to be involved and that’s it? Don’t you remember what Cash Money used to be? Big Tymers, Hot Boyz, all that?
Sir Baby of the Avian Order, you couldn’t have forgotten about the gator boots and Gucci suits so quickly. My dudes in LB, they don’t fit…don’t you have some sort of standards anymore?
[author break to listen to “Rack City” by YMCMB artist Tyga]
Well then. I see. So if this is what you’re producing…and all people like Fred Durst have to do is ask…
I’d like to end this letter to you by formally requesting to be added to your artist roster under the name BB Kate. Attached please find my resume and “best” photoshopped headshot. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely, Yours Truly,
An Honest Fan Who Is Really Just Mad That It Isn’t 2003 Anymore
PS. If you ruin Fred’s juice fast with your extravagant living, I’ll never forgive you.
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter To Lindsay Lohan
Ed. Note: Katie Young has a lot of long-standing issues with former child stars of the 90s, and if you’re one of them, oooooh just wait, mister. To read more installments of this column, click here.
Dear #1 Magnificent Flaxen-Haired Former Child Star of Our Time,
I can hardly believe what I’m about to say to you after so many bouts of crying and pleading and yelling and berating (also imagined sleepover pillow fighting- Imeanwhat?) both online and over the air waves of Kent State’s formidable Black Squirrel Radio, but…
My dear LL Cool Bean, I’m…I’m proud of you?
THERE. I said it. And you know what? I mean it. You’re really behaving! No arrests or squabbles or terrifying photos of you and Vanessa Manillo posing with kitchen knives in months! The baddest bitch in all of California’s judicial system, Judge Stephanie, has kept you in check and it’s doing wonders for your career.
(And clearly your personal style - don’t think I missed that sea foam green number you stole from my Great Aunt Ruthie in 1981. WORK, girl.)
I’ll admit, though, when I saw that you would be hosting some sort of mid-2000’s throwback episode of SNL (with the powdery shadow of Jack White no less) I thought it was a fluke. Why choose you? The last film you were in you played a homicidal nymphomaniac in a nun get-up and were out-acted by Steven Seagal’s ponytail. (To be fair, it is ponytail of 1,000 styles.)
But then came the announcement that actually almost broke me - Lifetime has named YOU, O Freckled One, to play the late, great and criminally insane Elizabeth Taylor in one of their infamous made for TV movies. Again, my thoughts at first were negative. You’re LINDSAY. LOHAN. Star of The Parent Trap, Mean Girls, I Know Who Kill…oh, wait.
That’s when I realized that this Lifetime movie is going to be a step UP for you! The fact that they didn’t cast you as Mary Kay Letourneau or Slutty Mom Number 3 in “Forbidden Speakings: A Suburban Love Quandrangle” is a huge victory to begin with.
(Side note to Lifetime: please cast LiLo’s former flame Wilmer Valderamma as Richard Burton or I burn your offices to the ground.)
There’s an issue though, and you know what it is: to begin filming you must stay out of trouble and fulfill your court orders before March 29. Only 14 more hours of morgue duty (I can’t) and 5 therapy sessions (Dina-free, I hope) and you’re legally able to potentially crap on the legacy of any dead film icon you want.
Please, keep up with your break from La Vida Blohan and make this movie. There are so many women who are counting on a new cable TV-based drinking game to play within the next year. And on behalf of all of them, we refuse accept Hilary Duff in the role.
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
A former non-believer, non-supporter and hater due to you getting to date Aaron Carter-based reasons
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter to Lil’ Kim
Ed. Note: Y’all gonna get Z-snapped ‘cause our girl, Katie Young, is having none of it. To read more of her one-sided correspondences with misguided celebrities, click here.
Dear Kimberly Denise Jones, the smallest of Kims,
K, I want to start off by being totally and completely honest with you: I love your new look. No- seriously! Serrrriously. The Jocelyn Wildenstein thing is super in. Swear to
God, Marc Jacobs paid for all of his models to get plastic surgery for this past Fashion Week.
Ugh, I know, I’m hiding behind my humour again. I’m sorry- I am just having trouble understanding how you’ve become what is essentially the Kim Kardashian of hip-hop?
Yes, it seems harsh, but hey: you’re rocking the Pocahontas weave and seem to have chiseled your nose down to resemble a Blow Up Doll Barbie. (To be fair, your criminal background is definitely more Khloe.)
But really, what happened to the old Princess of Junior M.A.F.I.A? For example, on the cover for your new single: you’re…you’re fully clothed. This simply will not do! You showed up to the 1999 MTV Music Video Awards with ONE WHOLE BE-PASTIED BOOB OUT.
For god’s sake, Diana Ross JIGGLED IT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION, and you’re coming at us in 2k12 looking like Taylor Swift mated with the Beast from that terrible television adaptation!
I’m insulted; much like my mother was by your album cover at Target, the likes of which I was steered away from countless times. (Don’t even get her started on Foxy Brown either…)
You haven’t escaped my music criticism either, my frenemy. I gave the single a spin (LOL, no I didn’t that’s ridiculous, I have an Internet connection) and I gotta say, I’m disappointed. A whiny anti-love song, Q-Bee? You’re ABOVE THAT. Remember when you used to rap about being the passive recipient of a certain sex act while watching cartoons? You had a song literally titled “Suck My Dick” and now it sounds like you’re reading from my 8th grade Xanga journal while sitting in front of a box fan.
Please don’t be mad- I say these things to you because I care. (And also because I like to pretend I’m a highly successful female emcee and this letter is my diss track, you feel me?)
Bear with my reference, but I’m just trying to be the proverbial (nerd proverb, maybe) Commissioner Gordon to your Batman: you’re the hero feminist fans of hip hop deserve, but not the one we need right now, so…
Take a seat, LK. Get back to us when you’re really ready.
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
Sincerely, Yours Truly: An Open Letter To The National Academy of the Recording Arts and Sciences
Ed Note: Katie Young is mad at a lot of you, if “you” is code for “idiots and buffoons.” Check out some previous ramblings here.
Dear Obviously Brain Dead Bunch of Corncob Dummies,
(For optimal results, please imagine an extra-long conference table of aging white males reading this letter, tut-tutting in unison, because that is how I picture any sort of academy to operate.)
Well, it’s almost time for y’alls big day, now, isn’t it? No, I hadn’t forgotten about your yearly gathering of music’s “best” and/or “brightest.” Though, if we’re being honest, NARAS, I am feeling a bit appre—
No, you know what? I don’t have to be kind to you. You are the same folks who robbed Justin Bieber of his rightful Best New Artist award! You, the mysterious body of music big wigs, who summoned your lowest of minions to rush the late, great Ol’ Dirty Bastard off stage mid-rant for SHAWN COLVIN IN THE ‘90s?
Sure, yes, fine, I’ve sung “Sonny Came Home” feverishly into a hairbrush a few times during my youth, but my more knowledgeable adult self knows for a fact that Wu-Tang is better than Puffy and that dumb acoustic songbird combined. (Which, by the way, is a fantastic image.)
I digress, National Academy of Recording FARTS and LIE…ences (HUMOR ME)…what I wanted to whine most about today is the fact that you are forcing arguably one of the best bands of all time, The Beach Boys, to not only share the stage, but to do it with Maroon 5 and Foster the People.
Look, gang. I’m in the marketing biz myself, and yes, you gotta appeal to the kids - make old things hip and sexy (my personal taste doesn’t count, since I find old things like Liam Neeson, or sweater clips to be as such.)
Fine, Maroon 5. They have their thing and I will say, they do it well. But Foster. The. People. Haven’t we learned our lesson about putting the Beach Boys with Hot New Things, world? It was done with Stamos, and it failed. And this is coming from a staunch Stamos advocate! (Seriously, once I saw him in a restaurant and if my slack-jawed, drooly, finger point-y response was evidence enough of my love, then WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, JOHN?)
But there is a line and you have crossed it, walked back, and crossed it again just to piss me off. This is the first time the Beach Boys have performed together in TWENTY YEARS. It could’ve been a beautiful moment, Grammy Dudes, but now a bunch of no-namers and Adam Levine are going to be present, the latter probably wearing pants that have a super low natural fiber thread count.
I digress…again. I know you’ve already made your announcements, O Heavenly Music Gods, but consider this pleading and sort of rude letter a formal request that you allow the Beach Boys to simply perform alone.
But if you’re going to do it, for the love of all things music and amazing hair-related, invite John Stamos.
Sincerely, Yours Truly
